Not Enough Thread to Spin Our Lies
by non.timebo.mala
Summary: AU. Castiel is an upper class angel and Dean a human. When Castiel is pressured into taking another angel as his mate, he and Dean have to hide their relationship and deal with the guilt. Dean/Castiel, rated M for cursing and a sex scene.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, lovely readers! So, this fic? Completely ran away from me! It started out as another prompt for my hurt/comfort bingo card on LJ (the prompt is 'forced marriage', but don't let that deter you from the fic! I thought it was going to be lame at first, but I think I managed a pretty good story. At least, hopefully...) but turned in to a full fledged, two part, thirteen thousand word fic. DX I know, crazy. The second part IS finished, and will be posted if you'd like to read more.

**Warnings for part 1: Cursing**

**Warnings for part 2: Cursing, a sex scene and a character death (not a main character and is already dead on the show)**

So, without further ado, here it is! ENJOY! (:

**xxx**

"They've found her."

Dean feels his stomach drop to his feet. He doesn't know why. He knew this was coming.

He clears his suddenly dry throat and nods. "Yeah? What's her name?" He doesn't care what her name is. He hopes it's something hard to pronounce.

"Reyayel." Yeah, it's hard to pronounce.

"Ray-eye-what now?" he asks, trying to infuse a little humour into the situation. It works, because Castiel cracks a small smile and lets out a puff of air that Dean thinks is a laugh.

"Ray-eye-el." Castiel says it slowly, like it's unfamiliar on his tongue. He doesn't sound as if he likes the taste of it.

"Reyayel," Dean repeats. He tries to come to terms with the name, but he already hates it. He knows that's unfair. He hasn't even met the girl. "Have you met her?"

Castiel nods, says a simple "yes," and sits on the ragged mattress in the dark. They're in a fucking cave, which is, of course, ridiculous. Ridiculous, but necessary, because it's the only place they know they won't be found. There's hardly any light and it smells like stale water and moss. The mattress is old and covered in grass stains, and the sheets have Batman logos all over them because they were the only clean ones Dean could find in his house that weren't being used. He swears up and down that they used to be Sam's, but he's pretty sure Castiel doesn't believe a word of it because he always just cracks a slightly amused smile and shakes his head.

Dean sits next to him, a little farther away than usual, because he's not sure what this means. "Well? What's she like?" he asks, trying to sound like he cares. He's out of his depth here and he knows it. He doesn't know the first thing about angel mating, and frankly, he never wanted to.

"She's fine," Castiel answers. Dean notices that he doesn't sound too happy about her being 'fine'. Well, good. "Quiet. She introduced herself and then stood silently while the seekers spoke of her." Dean scrunches his nose up at the mention of '_the seekers_'. The seekers can suck it. This is all their fault anyway. "She apparently has an anxiety disorder, is responsible, and takes archery lessons. She likes blue." Castiel sounds like he's reciting items off a list that he was forced to memorize for a homework assignment.

Dean scoffs. "Sounds like a party," he mutters. This _Reyayel _chick doesn't sound a thing like Dean. Dean has a mouth on him, and he uses it; never knows when to shut up. Dean is reckless and disrespectful. Dean is _fun_. If angel mates are chosen based on compatibility, and _Reyayel _(he even thinks the name with disdain) was chosen for Castiel, what does that say about the relationship _Dean _has with him?

Castiel eyes the distance that Dean put between them, frowns, and closes it gracefully. That's better.

"Stop thinking," he tells him and seems to decide he needs to go one better than just closing the distance. He throws a leg over Dean's lap and straddles his waist. Dean, despite his uncertainties, wraps his arms around the small of the angel's back and pulls him closer. "You always end up hurting when you think too much about these things. Reyayel is my mate because we are compatible, yes." Dean interrupts him with a soft chuckle, because sometimes he forgets that Castiel is more than human and can feel his thoughts. "But I don't care for compatibility. It's not what I want."

Dean sighs, and one of his hands leaves Castiel's back to run anxiously through his hair. "But it doesn't matter what you want, does it?" He looks Castiel straight in the eye.

Castiel drops his gaze first. "No. No, it doesn't."

Anger flares in Dean's chest and he growls. "It's bullshit, Cas. Your family, the seekers, your _mate_. It's all bullshit. Just a bunch of stupid societal rules so the angels can keep their image, keep their position over us." He subconsciously includes Castiel in the 'us'; Castiel is not a human, but he's different from the angels. He just is. "And you don't have to do shit, you know that, right? You have a mind of your own. They can't control you."

Dean has said it all before and Castiel always agrees. It's true. Every single time Dean says it, his eyes hardened with resentment and his fists clenched in Castiel's trench coat, it's true. But Castiel is loyal to a fault. He loves his family and he loves Dean. Somehow, he has to find a way to stretch that loyalty across the divide.

"I know." It's the only answer he can give.

The anger fades into reluctant acceptance then. Dean knows he can't break Castiel's loyalties, and he doesn't want to. Because even though Dean fucking _hates _the rest of the angels, they're Castiel's family, and if Dean knows a thing or two about anything at all, it's family.

There are a few minutes of awkward silence before Dean finally breaks it. "So? When's the ceremony?" There's the slightest hint of a sneer on his face. Castiel can't blame him.

"Thursday."

Dean blinks. "Wow. Two days, huh? You guys sure move fast."

Dean's body is rigid and still beneath Castiel now, and Castiel sighs. "There is no need for patience when you have found your true mate." His tone is biting, and Dean thinks maybe Castiel finally understands the concept of sarcasm. He smiles.

"So am I invited?"

Now it's Castiel's turn to stiffen. "Do… do you think it would be a good idea… for you to be there?"

"Probably not." Dean's nothing if not honest.

Castiel lets out another of those laughs that sound more like a sharp exhale. "You would be the only human there, other than the workers."

"Doesn't matter."

"I suppose if you really wish to be there, I could set you up with the bartenders." Castiel still sounds unsure.

"What, I can't just come as a guest?"

Castiel swallows. He looks up from the buttons on Dean's overshirt to his eyes, and then back. "I… well, they…"

Dean shakes his head and tightens his hold on the angel. "'S'okay, Cas, I get it."

Castiel nods and there's that silence again. Silence between them had never been awkward before. Dean knows it's because there's another question to ask, and they're both waiting for the other to ask it.

Dean breaks first. "So what about after?"

Castiel angles his head slightly. "After the ceremony? I suppose it would be the human equivalent of a honeymoon."

Dean had really been trying _not_ to think about the 'honeymoon', or whatever the fuck it was angels did after their little 'mating ceremony', which was just a fancy way of saying wedding, except that angels refused to call it that because it was a 'human tradition' and angels are _above _human traditions. A grimace passes over his face and he just manages to hold back a sarcastic remark that would probably put Castiel on edge. Thankfully, Castiel doesn't sound too excited about the 'honeymoon' either.

"No, not _that_," he says, the last word coming out as a growl. "I mean… after. You know."

Castiel still has that bird-head thing going on, and if Dean weren't in such a foul mood, it would make him smile. "Are you attempting to ask me a question without actually asking it?" He gives him the patented 'humans are such odd creatures' look that all angels have, but Castiel's doesn't bother Dean as much as the others' do; Castiel's is softer, less condescending.

Dean gives up. There's no point in beating around the bush with Castiel. "I mean you 'n' me, Cas. What happens after _to us_?" Sure, he sounds like a chick, but Castiel never notices that kind of thing, so Dean doesn't really care.

When Castiel answers, his voice is firm and resolute, and it makes Dean's eyes widen, because _this _is what an angel sounds like.

"I'm not leaving you."

Dean wants to breathe a sigh of relief, but it's just not that simple. "So what? You're just gonna pull one over on Ral… Rey… whatever the hell that chick's name is? She might be a bore, Cas, but she doesn't deserve that shit."

"You're right, she doesn't. Maybe that makes me a poor excuse for an angel, but like I said, I'm not leaving you."

"Poor excuse for an angel, my ass," Dean mumbles, because _all_ angels are poor examples of angels. Castiel has always been the best. Even now.

Castiel fixes him with a glare. "I mean it, Dean. It will take more than a mate to keep me away from you."

And despite Dean's moral qualms with being the… well, Dean actually has no idea what the male version of a 'mistress' is, so he's steering clear of that one… this is exactly what he wants to hear. It's selfish and cruel and he knows if he ever meets this Reyayel he won't be able to look her in the eye, but he can't help it. Castiel was his before he'd even heard of Reyayel. He still is. And Dean intends to make sure it stays that way.

So he relents, and only feels the briefest pang of guilt at putting up all the fight of a kitten against a brick wall. "Okay. If you're gonna be a cheating scumbag and I'm gonna be the scumbag you're cheating _with_, we might as well do this right." His face is sad for a fleeting moment, and then he wipes it away, replaces it with a smirk that doesn't feel quite right, and flips Castiel on his back.

**xxx**

They finish in record time, because Castiel has some pointless _upper class angel business _to attend to, and Dean needs to get home to make dinner for Sam in their run down fucking shack. It's quick and messy and despite their enthusiasm, it's almost sad. They can both feel it. They dress quickly afterwards, Dean buttoning up Castiel's shirt before pulling him into a kiss. His lips are urgent against the angel's, and _Christ_, it's not like this isn't going to happen again, so Dean doesn't know why he's being such a girl about it.

But they both know that Castiel will be too busy with planning the ceremony tomorrow, and by the time he gets back from his stupid fucking _angel honeymoon_, things will have changed. Their relationship was already taboo enough, and now, on top of angel and human, upper class and lower class, they're adding _cheaters_. It will be even more secretive, there will be even less time, and the guilt will probably crush them sooner or later.

And even knowing all this, Dean kisses Castiel hard on the mouth and tells him to meet him back here the moment he gets back from that goddamned honeymoon. Castiel leans up for another kiss, softer this time, and assures him that he will.

**xxx**

Dean walks through the door and slams it behind him, announcing his return.

"Sammy! Stop looking at anime porn and get out here!"

Sam scrambles out of his room on long and spindly legs, his mop of shaggy brown hair falling in his eyes. He's sixteen, but he reminds Dean of a puppy.

"I'm not looking at _anime porn_, Dean, shut up! Dad's here!" he hisses.

Dean just grins. All the better.

"Dad's home? Thought he wasn't getting back till late."

His answer is a shrug and a very uninformative "Well, he's here now," from his little brother, and that's when John walks into the living room with narrowed eyes.

"Where've you been?" His voice is suspicious, but it doesn't set Dean on edge. John always sounds suspicious when Dean or Sam come back after he does, and Dean is always careful to have an alibi. He holds up two plastic bags as an answer.

"Groceries," he explains. "We were outta bread and lettuce. And I picked up some 'Mac and Cheese' for Sammy 'n' me. Didn't think you'd be home for dinner, sorry."

John accepts the explanation without a second thought. Sometimes, when Dean's excuses are just a _little _lacking, Dean wonders if it's because John actually trusts him, or if he just doesn't want to know.

"It's fine," John says, waving away the concern. "I ate on the way back." He stops talking and eyes up Dean, who fidgets under his gaze. John never looks at him for this long. Dean knows it's because he reminds him too much of Mary.

Just when Dean starts to wonder if maybe his dad has caught the scent of sex that lingers around him like the cloud of smog over L.A., John nods, seemingly pleased. "You need some extra cash for clothes or food or something?" he asks gruffly.

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Tony called in sick for the rest of the week, says he's got a case of swine flu or something. Thought maybe you'd wanna come into the garage, take his place for a couple days."

That was unexpected. John never makes these kinds of offers. Dean's baffled. And he should jump on it, because even though he doesn't really need anything extra right now, they're poor as fuck and Dean would probably need it some time soon. But…

"I could come in tomorrow and Friday," Dean counteroffers, and John automatically narrows his eyes again. The man's smart.

"What're you doing on Thursday that's so important?"

Dean shuffles his feet and then strides towards the kitchen to put the groceries away, not wanting John to see his face while he explains.

"I'm working a ceremony, actually."

There's a beat of silence. "What kind of ceremony?"

Dean wants to lie about the whole thing, wants to tell him it's a bar mitzvah or something, a very, very _human _bar mitzvah, but he doesn't.

"A wedding ceremony, kinda."

"What do you mean, '_kinda_'?"

"Well, it's not exactly a wedding. More of a mating ceremony." Dean waits for the inevitable blow up.

"An _angel _mating ceremony? The _hell _are you working an angel ceremony for? What are you working as?" John's voice is louder now, his face flushed a light red. Dean turns his back to put the lettuce in the fridge so he doesn't have to watch.

"Dad, chill. I don't like it any more than you do." And that wasn't exactly a lie. Dean was pretty damn sure he was going to hate it. "But you know those bastards can afford to pay well. I met a guy at the market, and he offered me a job as a bartender at his wedding thing or whatever it is, and you know Sam needs a new pair of shoes; kid's feet grew like twelve sizes in the past week. So, you know, I said yes."

Dean turns back to his father and, fortunately, his skin is slowly fading back to its original colour. Still, he's not happy. "This better not become a regular thing, Dean. I don't want my son working for _angels_, got it? Snobby sons of bitches are gonna treat you like scum tomorrow, you know that right?"

If they do, Dean knows he'll deserve it.

"Yeah, Dad, I know. It's just one day though. Sammy really needs those shoes."

John grunts in answer, and grabs his leather jacket off the back of the couch. "Be up at six tomorrow for your shift. I'm going to The Roadhouse." He slams the door behind him.

Dean sighs and leans against the fridge, his eyes screwed shut. When he finally opens them, there's Sam. His arms are crossed and he has that disapproving little brother look on his face. Dean can't deal with this right now.

"What?" he growls.

"It's Castiel's ceremony, isn't it?"

Dean scoffs. "Right to the point then, I guess."

Sam ignores him. "Isn't it?" he repeats.

"Yeah, Sammy. It is."

**xxx**

Sam knew about the whole thing. He never even had to ask; he just knew. The first time Dean had come home smelling like sex and the faintest hint of Grace, Sam had figured it out. "You just fucked an angel, didn't you?" he'd asked, and Dean had been more shocked at Sam's new addition to his vocabulary than the guess. Sam just knew Dean, and Dean knew Sam. It wasn't surprising that he'd gotten it right.

After that, Sam had pieced together details through some research on angels and some persistent pestering of his older brother. "What's her name?" Sam would ask. Ask and ask and _ask_, until Dean just couldn't ignore him anymore.

"_His _name is Cas, Sam, now seriously _fuck off_." And of course, Sam had teased him relentlessly. When he was finished, instead of asking a _normal _question like "What's it like?" or "Are you gonna tell Dad?" Sam had asked what the angel's real name was, since angel's never had names like "Cas". God, his brother was such a geek.

Geeky enough to read everything he could find about angels on the laptop that Dean had saved up for two years to get him. He'd found a ton of information, but most of it was old news, things they'd learned in history class or from their father: the angels had come to earth about a century ago, they were old as fuck (Sam had teased Dean about this, too), they'd fairly peacefully taken over the government systems and quickly risen to the top of the social pyramid. A hundred years on earth and they'd become pretty much royalty without the crowns, and yes, the humans were suffering for it, because most of the angels were corrupt, greedy little bastards now.

Sam, being the nerdy little knowledge whore that he was, found it all fascinating. But what really interested him was what he _hadn't _already known about: the mating.

"You know he's gonna find a mate soon, right?" he'd asked. Dean had sighed and tried to ignore him. "And I don't mean you, I mean another angel. They're called "true mates" or something and there's this group of angels called "the seekers" that go out searching for them. It sounds like some kind of angelic match making service or something, but it's not, 'cause the matches are already _made_. The team just goes out looking for them, 'cause if you're an angel you _have _to find your mate. It's like, a they all have mates out there somewhere, you know, and they're _always _other angels, so you're not it."

Dean's features were tense, his stiff shoulders, and Sam realized that he was trying not to react. "You didn't know," Sam had muttered, feeling stupid. "Sorry, Dean." He'd left Dean on his own for twenty minutes, and when he came back with an apple pie that he'd stolen from the market down the street (because Sam was a geek, but he was a geek with some serious skills), Dean's eyes had looked slightly red. Sam never mentioned it.

**xxx**

"And you're _going _to it?" Sam practically screeches, incredulous. Dean knows he doesn't understand. The first time Dean had found out about the mates thing, Sam was pretty sure Dean had _cried_. And Dean was no sissy, so unless he was just high, there'd been a serious reason for his eyes to look like that, and Sam was betting on some kind of twisted inter-species _love_. So why on earth Dean would want to go to the mating ceremony of the _angel _that he was in _love_ with was beyond Sam. His brother must be some kind of masochist or something.

Dean nods.

"What's _wrong _with you? Are you _trying _to make yourself a bitter old hermit? Or are you trying to make him feel guilty? God, Dean, don't tell me you're gonna try and break it up."

"Shut up, Sam, seriously. Of course not, what do you think this is, _The Graduate_?" Dean pushes himself off the fridge and grabs the boxes of 'Mac and Cheese'.

"Then what, Dean? What are you trying to do?"

Dean's hand is already around the handle of a pot, and he slams it down on top of their shitty little stove. "Nothing! I'm not trying to do anything, dude, I'm just going to the guy's wedding."

Sam doesn't even flinch at the clang. "Bullshit."

"Stop cussing, you're like, six."

Sam ignores him again. He's good at doing that. He stares at the back of Dean's head and Dean can feel it. He lets his brother's gaze burn into him for a good five minutes until he finally feels inclined to say more.

"I guess I just want to see if he looks happy."

Sam doesn't know what to say to that, so he just helps Dean with their piss-poor excuse for a meal. They accidentally overcook it, serve it up in mugs 'cause there are no clean bowls, and eat it in front of their twelve-inch TV. '_Godzilla VS Mothra_'s playing on channel 10, and Dean needs to educate Sam on good horror movies, because Sam likes the remake, and that shit just doesn't fly with Dean.

Forty-five minutes in, and Sam's starting to nod off. By the time the credits hit the screen he's asleep with his head on Dean's shoulder, and Dean thinks he feels a little better.

**xxx**

Thursday rolls around and Dean wishes he hadn't insisted on attending the ceremony. He's all decked out in the bartender's uniform, name tag included, and he can't help but think that 'angel weddings' are the most ridiculous things ever. They're almost exactly like human weddings, from what he can tell, except that they're about a thousand times as fancy and for some reason there are no chairs. No chairs, but plenty of food and liquor, which is equally as stupid as the rest of this whole shindig since angels don't need to eat _or _drink.

Dean rolls his eyes and tells himself to keep it together. There are a multitude of reasons as to why he's feeling so bitter, but the main one is the most obvious: this is all for Cas and some random angel chick he met two days ago. And Dean never really saw marriage in his future, even if he and Cas _had _worked out, but he thinks he might just agree to walk down that goddamn aisle in a fucking _dress_ if it means he doesn't have to watch Cas get hitched to someone else.

Dean absentmindedly pours red wine into a glass that's so obviously expensive it might as well still have a giant price tag on it. Fucking angels and their money. He looks around, grins cheekily at the other human bartender who seems like she couldn't care less what Dean does, and takes a swig. It's not whiskey or even beer, but since angels are apparently too _high class _for manly drinks, it'll have to do.

The music starts and Dean pours himself another glass. It's not a wedding march. It's not any kind of music Dean would expect to hear at a wedding, not that he's been to many. It's like a mix of tribal drums and harps, which is odd, but it doesn't sound too bad. There's an angel at the front who Dean knows as Gabriel, only because he's one of the major big shots in town. Gabriel has a trumpet in his hand, and he blows on it.

It's fucking _loud_.

Dean and the rest of the workers, all humans, have to cover their ears, but the angels seem unfazed. There are about a hundred of them, all standing in a half circle around Gabriel. That's when Castiel walks in.

He looks good. _God_, does he ever look good. He's wearing traditional wedding attire, just a tux and a tie and some dress shoes, but it's a nice change from his usual sloppy suit and heavy trench coat. Dean doesn't know why Castiel always wears the same thing, but it never seems to get dirty or nasty smelling, so he doesn't complain. But he's think maybe he should start, because Cas really does look hot in a tux.

This only registers for about three seconds though, and then Dean's onto the next big thing: Castiel's wings are out. They're huge and black and beautiful, and it pisses Dean right off to see them now, 'cause he's only ever seen those wings come out when Castiel's at his most vulnerable, his most beautiful, when he's writhing over or underneath Dean and crying out his name. They're _Dean's _wings just as much as they're Castiel's and like _hell_ he's letting some angel bitch get her hands all over them.

Dean shakes his head. He's never been the jealous type before, and now he's feeling out of control. He needs to calm down, so he pours a third glass of the prissy red wine and gulps it down.

The angels part for Castiel, and he walks through the crowd and up to Gabriel. Dean can't see Castiel's face, and he's not sure he wants to.

And then Reyayel shows up. And fine, she's gorgeous too. Not like she needs an award for it or anything. Her glossy brown hair is up in an intricate bun and a few curls hang by her face. Her features are pixie-like and her dress looks like it cost thousands of dollars. She probably spent even more on those damn heels. Her wings are just as big as Castiel's, but they're white, and Dean can't help but think that's just not as cool. Instead of flowers, she's carrying a ball of bright blue light. It glows through her fingers and onto her face. Dean realizes Castiel is holding something similar, only his is white, and Dean really doesn't want to know where this is going anymore.

The crowd parts again to let Reyayel through and she joins Castiel in front of Gabriel. She looks nervous and Dean's a little too far away to know for sure, but it looks like her hands are trembling. He remembers that Castiel said she had an anxiety disorder. Dean shakes his head in disbelief. Aren't angels supposed to be perfect or something? Why would God create an angel with a fucking anxiety disorder?

Castiel turns slightly, and Dean can finally see his face. He's looks calm and collected, but there's a strange lack of emotion in his features. They're blank, which reminds Dean of when he'd first met Castiel. It had taken a while to get the angel to open up and show some kind of emotion, but Dean had done it, and now it's gone. Dean can't tell if that's good or bad.

Gabriel starts speaking but Dean's too far away to hear anything clearly. It goes on for a good twenty minutes while Dean just glowers at the angels and downs glass after glass of wine. He doesn't feel bad; the angels can obviously afford the loss. It's a good thing he's not a light-weight, because if he ended up drunk he'd probably start shouting "I OBJECT!" at the top of his lungs, and that would just be embarrassing.

And then things start happening. The angels close in around Castiel and Reyayel and soon he can barely see them. This is starting to look less and less like a wedding and more like a fucking cult, and Dean doesn't like it. He can hear words now, louder than before, so he assumes it's more than just one angel talking. They get louder and louder and Dean's positive that's not English, not even close, and the whole crowd is speaking it.

It only takes a few moments for Dean to realize he recognizes it, and when he does, he smirks. He's heard this language a few times before, when Castiel's nails are digging into his shoulder blades and his legs are wrapped around his waist and their skin is sliding together like it's just _supposed _to. It's Enochian. And Dean would bet his entire house, shitty as it may be, that since it's being used at an angel wedding, it's a lot more holy than Castiel makes it out to be when he's screaming it as he comes.

That brightens Dean's day just a little.

Not for long, of course, because Dean's just not that lucky. This whole thing is getting weirder by the second because the angels are holding their hands out in the direction of Cas and Reyayel and the whole crowd is starting to _glow_. Dean knows the basics about angels, mostly from Castiel, so he's pretty sure that's Grace. It looks like the entire crowd is _blessing _them with _Grace._

It makes Dean's eyes burn a little, but he can't look away. The music is still playing and the harps have gotten louder. Castiel raises his ball of glowing light, and Reyayel raises hers. It takes Dean a second to realize that what they're holding is Grace, too. _Their _Grace. And… they're pushing it together. Binding it.

And that is _e_-fucking-_nough _for Dean. The light flares and he has to close his eyes. The Enochian is loud enough and the light bright enough that Dean is convinced no one will notice if he breaks the wine bottle on the floor, so he does. He's right; no one notices. If anyone asks, he'll tell them it fell, and he won't care if they believe him or not. This is just too much, too intimate. Castiel told him once that Grace is the angel equivalent of a human soul. So basically, the guy he's in love with just bound his soul to some random chick's. Because it was _expected _of him. And he didn't even _warn _Dean.

Dean might just punch Castiel in the face.

The light dies down, and then it's over. Just like that. The angels disperse and the bar starts to get a little busy as women dressed in pearls and balding men who reek of money approach to pick up glasses of expensive wine. Not one of them looks Dean in the eye when they order.

Dean's too wounded to even care.

He wants to take off, but that excuse about Sam needing shoes? That wasn't a lie. He really did. He has to stay until the angels decide they've done enough pointless drinking for the night and the happy new couple flies away to Never Never Land or wherever the fuck they're going for their honeymoon.

Dean spills just enough drinks so that his side of the bar gets a little slower, but not enough to get fired. He watches Castiel talk to his family and friends. There's no dancing, which is weird, because most of this wedding seems to be taken right out of and issue of WedLuxe Magazine (and Dean _only _knows what that's called because it's always on the rack by the check-out at the gas station, seriously), aside from the magical Enochian Grace bonding. But even though they don't dance, Dean still has to watch Castiel and Reyayel together. They hold hands. She kisses his cheek. He feeds her a piece of $3,000 cake.

Dean feels sick. He wishes he could convince himself that it's because this is all so disgustingly domestic and romantic, but he doesn't have it in him. It's because he's jealous. And _lovesick_, which he will never, ever admit out loud, because that's crossed the line from girly to full on lonely cat-lady carrying a torch for her married neighbour.

Married. Castiel is _married_.

An angel named Zachariah (who is, in Dean's opinion, a grade A douche) pays him in cash, and he goes home without saying goodbye to Castiel. He tells John that he got food-poisoning at the wedding and makes puking noises behind the closed bathroom door so he can get out of work at the garage tomorrow. And right before he collapses in bed, he tosses all the cash he earned at Sam, tells him to buy himself a good pair of shoes and knock himself out with the rest.

Dean doesn't want it.

**xxx**

So there it is, part one! Again, part two IS finished, and it will be posted later on if you'd like to read more, so let me know it a review. Thanks for reading!

- Nix (:


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings for part 2: Cursing, a sex scene and a character death (not a main character and is already dead on the show)**

ENJOY! (:

**xxx**

Castiel is gone for two weeks. Dean passes the time watching TV with Sam and working at the garage and pretending he doesn't care. Sam sees right through him.

"Told you you shouldn't have gone," he mutters, and Dean doesn't answer.

Thursday comes and goes, and then it comes again, and Dean isn't even sure if he's going to meet Castiel at the cave. He made Castiel promise he would, but that was before he went and bound his Grace to Reyayel's without so much as letting him know, so he was obviously a little hesitant.

In the end, though, he decides to go, if for nothing else than to bitch Castiel out. Angel or not, Dean would punch him in the face, and if Castiel decides to show him the wrath of Heaven for it, great. Even better.

He decides to show up late just to make Castiel squirm, and as he walks into the cave, he knows his plan worked. Castiel is pacing and Castiel never paces.

Dean clears his throat to grab his attention and opens his mouth to start talking, or yelling, or _something_. But instead of words, there's tongue. Castiel's tongue. The angel has him pinned against the cave wall in half a second with his tongue down his throat and wait, what was Dean about to say?

Right, Grace-bonding. Not cool. Dean thinks he still has enough control to push him off, but then Castiel is pressing filthy kisses to his neck and grinding his hips against Dean's. He whispers, "I missed you," against Dean's skin, and Dean is just gone.

It's not all because of Castiel's body pressed flush against Dean's that he decides to save the talking for later. That's _most _of it, but not all. It's also because Castiel's urgent kisses are soft, too, and Dean can feel that the angel's lips are parted over his teeth in a smile. His hands are purposeful but gentle under Dean's shirt, and all of it, every last bit of it, is screaming _love_. Dean doesn't care if that sounds lame, because it's true. It doesn't feel like part of Castiel's Grace or soul, or whatever it is he has is off somewhere with Reyayel. It feels exactly like it's all right here, his entire soul laid out for Dean to do as he wants with it, but Dean doesn't want to do much; he just wants to know it's there, and it is. He doesn't know how, but it is.

So Dean swallows his worries for now and just feels. He feels Castiel fingers drag over his stomach and up his chest. He feels Castiel's lips press against his neck and jaw and face. He feels the warmth spread through his body as Castiel places a hand over the bulge in his jeans.

He lowers his hands from their tight hold on Castiel's shoulder blades to his thighs and he hoists the angel up so that he can wrap his legs around Dean's waist. Dean speed-walks over to the grass stained mattress, their mouths still connected, and lowers Castiel down onto his (yes, his) old Batman sheets. He hovers over the angel and pauses to stare at him, because his hair is all over the place and his pupils are blown wide with lust and the smile on his face is brilliant. Dean leans down to kiss it, and Castiel's arms pull him closer.

There's no guilt, not yet anyways. It will come later, but neither of them is thinking about that right now. They undress each other in the dark and map each other out with their hands like it's their first time together. Dean presses Castiel into the mattress with his hips, and they moan together at the feeling of skin against skin.

They kiss like their lives depend on it, lips and tongue and teeth sliding together just like the rest of them. Castiel ruts up against Dean, and Dean groans into the heat of his mouth.

Dean realizes that his angel smells faintly of woman. Reyayel. It should upset him, but it doesn't. It's only to be expected. Instead, Dean makes it his mission to replace that scent with his own by the end of the night. He gathers Castiel closer and covers his body completely with his own. They grind against each other until they're both fully hard, and then Dean reaches under the mattress for the bottle of lube they keep there.

Castiel is breathing heavily by the time Dean has his fingers coated with it, the loss of Dean's touch obviously not agreeing with him. His fingers dig into Dean's hips and he looks up at him with pleading eyes.

He doesn't need to ask. Dean is back as soon as he's finished and it was worth the wait. Warm, slick fingers push into Castiel and the angel writhes beneath Dean, and when Dean's fingers brush against his prostate, Castiel bites his lip and whimpers. Dean shivers above him, partly because that sound does things to him that he would never admit to out loud, but also because Castiel is letting him claim him as his. Castiel _is _Dean's, not Reyayel's and not anyone else's. Just Dean's.

Dean kisses him again on the mouth, and then moves downwards, over his jaw, his neck, his chest and stomach, as his fingers work inside him. Castiel is shuddering and moaning, and when Dean takes the head of his cock into his mouth and presses his tongue against it, Castiel nearly screams. Dean sucks lightly and moans against the skin, sending vibrations that spread through Castiel's entire body.

And then Dean's fingers are gone, and so is his mouth, and Castiel lets out a low whine. He glares up at Dean who tries to hold back a smirk that frankly, he thinks he's earned for having an angel of the Lord so strung out because of him. Still, he works quickly, coating himself with lube and then hovering over Castiel once again.

He presses his open mouth over Castiel's and their tongues tangle as he pushes inside. Castiel melts into the mattress, and Dean leans his forehead against Castiel's to steady himself.

It's a slow push and pull at first, but it has them both murmuring _I love you_'s and _I missed you_'s and_ You're mine_'s_. _And when Dean starts to thrust into him faster, deeper, assaulting that bundle of nerves with every roll of his hips, it degenerates into _Oh, god_ and _fuck, Cas_ and _Dean, Dean, Dean_.

And then, just like those times before, Castiel's wings are out, black and breathtaking, crumpled and pinned beneath the angel and he's coming hard against Dean's stomach. Dean reaches a hand out instinctively and his fingers brush through the feathers, stroking Castiel through his orgasm. The angel's head falls back and he murmurs in Enochian, and Dean pushes into him once more before he's coming too, a cry of "Cas" on his lips.

Dean's fingers are still curled in Castiel's wings when he leans down to kiss him again. They're quiet, still trying to catch their breath, and Dean pulls out gently and lies beside him.

"Don't stop," Castiel breathes, so Dean's hands return to his wings.

They're silent for several more minutes as Dean runs his fingers soothingly through Castiel's feathers and Castiel just tries to calm himself. The quiet gives Dean's old thoughts and worries time to return, but he knew it was only a matter of time.

"Did you let her do this?" It's Dean's first question. It's probably the most inconsequential, but for some reason the thought of Reyayel with her fingers in Castiel's wings is worse than any thoughts of her fingers anywhere else on Castiel's body.

Castiel opens his eyes slowly and turns his head to face Dean. He looks baffled. "Of course not," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "These are yours."

Well, good. They're on the same page for that one at least.

"This is mine, too," Dean counters, running a hand from Castiel's neck, over his chest, and down to his dick. "And she still touched you."

Castiel sighs and its sadness echoes through the cave. Dean doesn't like it. Not after what they'd just had. "Yes," Castiel admits. "I'm sorry, Dean, but it would have been suspicious if –"

Dean cuts him off with his lips. "That part doesn't matter," he assures him once the kiss is over. "I get it. Don't worry."

Castiel nods and waits for more.

"Did you really… I mean, you didn't… I was really pissed when I saw it but now I'm not sure, because it doesn't feel like it happened, but…"

"Dean, I have no idea what you're attempting to say to me," Castiel tells him, a soft smile on his face.

"Did you and Reyayel… did you bind your Graces together or something? 'Cause that's what it looked like."

Castiel lifts him up then and has his wings wrapped around him. And fuck it all if Dean hadn't already felt like a chick twenty times over today, but this feels too safe and right to complain.

"Dean, no. Of course not. I can understand where the idea came from, since that is what was meant to happen, but I would have thought you would know better than that."

Dean feels a huge weight lift off his shoulder, but now he has to ask. "That was meant to happen? Why didn't it?"

The expression on Castiel's face is enough to make Dean laugh. He's never seen the angel look so sheepish. "It was meant to be my Grace that I mixed with hers, but of course I didn't go through with that. I used someone else's."

"Someone else's? Please tell me you _told _this someone that they're now bound to _your_ mate." Normally Dean wouldn't care much, but there was that slow creep of guilt just under his skin. He was a cheating enabler, a scumbag. He felt like he owed something to Reyayel, even if she was just another fucking angel.

Castiel looked even more sheepish. "Well, of course I couldn't bind her to a living angel. That would be unfair to both parties. I… I bound her to my brother, Admael. He died in battle many years ago. I know it's rather morbid, but his grace lay in an urn like the ashes of a deceased human, and… it seemed like the best option. She won't feel much, definitely not the same way she would if she were bound to living Grace, but it will be enough." He's looking at Dean like he's waiting for him to tell him how fucked up he is, but Dean isn't going to do any such thing. It was a pretty genius plan. Dean lets him know with his mouth on his.

"You're pretty damn smart, you know that?"

Castiel cracks a small smile. "I'm glad you think so." Dean nods into his neck and he smiles because he can't smell Reyayel anymore. Castiel smells like sex, like Grace, and like _Dean_, and that's it. Mission completed.

And then Dean sighs. "So what now?"

"We do what we've always done, and we hide it well."

It didn't sound all that appealing, but then again, life without Castiel sounded even less so.

**xxx**

The next few weeks pass slowly. Castiel and Dean are careful to avoid suspicion, which means they can't meet often. Twice a week, maybe, if they're lucky. Sometimes when they're together it feels dirty and wrong and Dean gets that crushing feeling of guilt that pushes against his lungs and makes him think of Reyayel. Most times, though, she's the last thing on his mind because it feels exactly like the day Castiel came back from his honeymoon: passionate and desperate and _loving_.

Dean can easily see that this is going too far. He's been pretty deep in it with Castiel from the get-go, but now almost every time they meet, this _thing_, whatever it is they have, gets stronger. Too strong for meeting in a darkened cave twice a week and fucking on Batman sheets and spending the rest of the little time they have together just talking. Or not talking. It doesn't matter, because either way, it's not enough anymore. It used to be, but nowadays it's just not cutting it, and neither of them knows what to do about that.

When they're not together, which is, unfortunately, most of the time, Dean stresses. He stresses about his relationship with Castiel, about hiding it, about getting caught. But he stresses about other things too, like Sammy's school and his dad's drinking and their low funds. His family doesn't need much, but it's gotten to the point where Dean's going to have to start selling what little they have.

That's why, an hour or two after Dean gets back from one of his meet-ups with Cas, he leaves his house with his tiny TV set in hand, and heads for the pawn shop. He's not happy about this, because it means Sam will end up seriously lacking in the horror movie education department, but it also means that he might get a little more in the _real _education department, so that's okay. The kid is smart as fuck, and has big dreams, so school comes first.

Dean takes the TV in and gets twenty bucks for it. He wasn't expecting much, but twenty? It's enough to buy Sam a new backpack. Fuck.

Dean's about to flip the clerk off and leave, but he hears the bell over the door ring and he turns around. It's a woman, and Dean immediately recognizes her.

It's Reyayel.

Same long brown hair, same pixie-like features. Dean never got an up-close look at her before, but he knows it's her.

Dean stands frozen in the middle of the pawn shop as the angel wanders around, examining various things on display. Her bony fingers strum against the strings of an old guitar and she thumbs through a crate of vinyl records.

She really is beautiful.

Not to mention, real. And here. A solid, actual person. Angel. Whatever. The point is, Dean's freaking out. He doesn't want to see her in a pawn shop. That raises all kinds of questions, like what is an angel with millions of dollars to spare doing in a dive like this? What is she looking for? Does her family know she's here? Does she come downtown often?

They're all questions that Dean really, _really_ doesn't want to know the answers to, because if he finds out, it'll make her real. Dean doesn't want her to be real. He wants her to stay as she was, a distant thought at the best of times, a crushing guilt at the worst, but never, _never _a real person with a real personality and real likes and dislikes and… and feelings. And a heart.

Dammit.

Dean can't move. He wants to just get out of here and forget about this, but his feet are glued to the floor and his eyes are glued to the angel who… okay, really? She just pulled out a Zeppelin album. The world is obviously conspiring against Dean; not only is it forcing him to see this once distant threat to his relationship as a real person, but it's trying to make him _like _her, because anyone who has a thing for Zeppelin is automatically cool in Dean's books.

_Dammit!_

He watches her browse, the album tucked securely under her arm, and she stops to check out a couple shelves of books. Her eyes rake over the spines, every thing from _Dr. Seuss_ to _The Odyssey_, and she looks really into it. She's so concentrated on all of them that when the clerk walks up behind her and asks politely if he can help her find anything, she jumps three feet in the air and turns around. Dean only has about half a second to register the absolutely _terrified_ look on her face before she backs up into the book case and the books themselves come crashing down on her.

Dean's first instinct is to run and help, and Dean is driven by instinct most of the time, so he does. The clerk is standing there screaming about the mess and how someone better clean it up, and he's not even bothering to check if she's okay. Dean hurries over, promptly tells him to shut the _fuck _up, and kneels down to pull Reyayel out of the pile of books.

"Hey, are you okay?"

She's shaking. Not like 'little third grader with her first oral report' shaking, but like 'there is an actual earthquake taking place inside her body right now' shaking. She's trembling like nobody's business and that's when Dean remembers: anxiety disorder. He still thinks it's crazy that there's an _angel _with an anxiety disorder, but Reyayel is starting to hyperventilate, so it's really not the time for questions.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he says, trying to keep her steady. She's pretty much glued to the spot, so Dean doesn't think she'll be going anywhere on purpose, but she's shaking so hard that Dean thinks she'll crumble into a thousand little pieces if he lets her go.

Dean briefly wonders if they ever taught him how to deal with a person having a panic attack back when he was in school, but even if they had, Dean doubts he would have been paying attention. So he's kind of screwed, because the only other person in the shop is the asshole clerk, and he's certainly not helping.

"Okay, Re – _lady_, you're gonna have to help me out here and tell me what to do, because I don't know anything about panic attacks, okay? So do you want me to call a doctor or something?" He narrowly escapes calling her by her name, and that just adds a whole extra level of _fucked _to this situation.

Reyayel looks at him like he's kind of an idiot for suggesting that, and he realizes he is. There are no angel doctors, no angel treatments, because angels don't get sick. They don't have imperfections and they don't have disorders. Reyayel may very well be the _only _exception to this rule, so no doctor would have a treatment for her. It doesn't really matter either way, though, because an angel's Grace is healing, so Dean's pretty sure she can use it on herself.

She can. It takes a while, but eventually Reyayel stops shaking quite so hard, stops breathing quite so fast. Dean's hands are curled around her wrists in an effort to keep her still, so he can feel her heart rate slow through her pulse. Her face turns absolutely _beet _red, and Dean can't help but crack a small smile at her.

"Hey, don't worry about it," he says in what he hopes is a reassuring tone. He slowly lets go of the angel's wrists and crouches down to pick up her Zeppelin album. "You good?" he asks, and Reyayel nods slowly, staring at him with big doe eyes. He holds out her copy of _Led Zeppelin II_ and she reaches for it with a shaky hand.

"You've got some good taste." Dean doesn't know why he's still talking to her. He's finished his role as good citizen now, so he's free to go. Reyayel, though still looking mortified, is fine. He's made sure of it. He could leave, but instead he compliments her taste in music.

Her blush fades slightly and Dean's happy he stayed, if only to make her feel a little less embarrassed about all this. After all, it's not her fault she came off the celestial assembly line with a defect.

Her lips twitch into a tiny smile, and she drops her eyes to the floor. "Thank you," she mumbles, and Dean knows she's not just thanking him for the compliment.

Dean shrugs. "No problem."

He helps her put the books back on the shelf while the clerk just glowers at them from behind his desk. There's dust flying everywhere, because apparently the owner doesn't know how to pick up a damn rag and clean his store, so they're both sneezing relentlessly as they work.

It's kind of funny. They both laugh a little.

There are a _lot _of books, and the clerk tells them that they'd better put them back in alphabetical order, so it takes a long time. The silence eventually starts to bore Dean; he likes to talk. He knows Reyayel doesn't from what Castiel's told him, but, well, tough.

"So what's an angel like you doing in a sleazy old pawn shop like this?" Dean can't help but ask. If she'd wanted the Zeppelin album that bad she could have easily gone to one of the more upper class music stores, or paid one of her workers to go fetch it for her.

Reyayel grimaces and Dean thinks she's going to tell him to mind his own damn business, because he's an insolent, nosy human with a smudge on his cheek from working on cars and holes in his ragged, old shoes and how _dare _he ask an angelic lady about her comings and goings when she could buy his entire life with less than the tiniest fraction of her bank account?

Dean half hopes this is the reaction he gets, but it's not. Reyayel's grimace fades into a tiny smile and she looks at him with nothing but gratitude and kindness. "I like old things," she explains softly. "Antiques, vintage. Reminds me of before."

It's not a very in depth explanation, but it's all Dean really needs to realize that he can absolutely _not _hate this woman. It's also enough to cause his guilt to intensify to staggering levels, because _yeah_, she's real, and she's shy and likes antiques and Led Zeppelin and is actually nice to humans and _dear god_, he just finished fucking her husband not three hours ago.

What is he supposed to do now?

The logical solution is to call things off with Cas, because cheating? So not cool when you realize there's an actual person you're hurting.

But Dean _loves_ Cas. He really, really loves him, and he knows Cas loves him too. This whole angel mating system is _faulty_, because compatibility didn't equal love, or happiness, and Dean knew that he and Cas could have both when Reyayel and Cas couldn't.

The other logical solution is for Castiel to leave Reyayel, but that's all kinds of complicated. It's completely _unheard of _for an angel to reject their mate, and it's _equally _unheard of for and angel to have any kind of relationship with a human. Plus, Castiel's family is psychotic. Dean knows Castiel loves them dearly, but if they ever found out about Dean, they'd flip shit and cut him out of their lives without a second thought.

Dean really doesn't know what to do.

"And you?"

Dean blinks and his eyes flick up from where they'd been burning a hole into the cover of _Green Eggs and Ham_. Reyayel is looking at him expectantly, and Dean realizes she'd asked him a question.

"Huh?"

She smiles. "You asked me what brought me here. I returned the question."

"Oh. Right. I was, uh, just selling my TV."

Reyayel just nods and goes back to putting books away, but Dean can tell she understands what he means – I'm poor as shit and the twenty bucks I just got from hocking my idiot box is probably going to go towards food that will just manage to keep my brother with the insatiable appetite from starving. Dean appreciates that she doesn't

say anything.

Dean needs a safe topic of conversation, so he turns to common ground. They talk about Zeppelin while they finish with the books, and Dean tells her she chose a good album, because _II _has _Ramble On _and that's pretty much Dean's favourite song of all time. She smiles shyly and tells him she likes that one, but she's really buying _II _for _What is and What Should Never Be_, and that's just fine with Dean.

Reyayel puts the last book in the shelf and Dean barely notices. He walks up to the front with her and they're still talking even as she's paying for the album. They leave the shop together, and the dimming light of the sun is what lets Dean know that he should be getting home.

"Dean, I'd like to say thank you," Reyayel says.

Dean just shakes his head. "Nah, don't worry about it. Just common courtesy."

"Apparently it wasn't, if the sales associate could not show me the same kindness in his own workplace."

"Yeah, well, that guy's a douche," Dean says, waving it away. Because there is no way in hell that Reyayel should be thanking him for _anything_.

Reyayel blushes at Dean's vocabulary and Dean can't help but laugh at that, even through the guilt.

"I mean it. I'd like to thank you." Dean stands there for one disbelieving moment as he realizes she's holding out _Led Zeppelin II_. For him to _take_. His gut clenches and he honestly thinks he might throw up, because that guilt that had been slowly growing inside him ever since he first saw Reyayel in the pawn shop has pretty much blown right up in his face and is making him feel physically ill.

Dean puts his hands up and takes a step back. "That's yours, Reyayel," he says firmly.

She frowns. "Not anymore."

Oh, god. "Seriously, Rey." He winces at the nickname that somehow managed to slip out. He doesn't deserve to call her anything other than fucking _saint_. "I'm… you don't want to do that. I'm not… I'm not a good guy."

Reyayel looks like she's about to protest that vehemently, so Dean quickly shakes his head. "Really. Keep something for yourself."

He turns around and has to stop himself from breaking into a sprint right in front of her. Once he turns the first corner, he runs.

**xxx**

Dean ends up wishing that he hadn't rushed home, because when he opens the door, his world falls apart.

Sam is curled into a ball on the couch and he's sobbing like all the rainforests in the world are depending on his tears. Dean's at his side in a heartbeat, his guilt forgotten for the moment, and he tries to get Sam to look at him.

When he finally does, Dean's heart breaks. His little brother has never looked so horrified, so sad. His eyes are swollen and red and his cheeks are stained with tear trails. His fingers are curled tightly around the hem of his t-shirt, and blood is pumping out of his lip where Dean assumes he's been biting – _hard_ – to keep himself from crying. It obviously hadn't worked.

"Sam!" Dean demands, his brothers face in his hands. "Sammy, tell me what happened." He shakes him, trying to jerk an explanation out of him, but Sam's still crying and fuck, Dean can't deal with the sight of that. His own eyes start to well up with tears and he doesn't even know the reason, only that Sam is more distressed than Dean had ever seen him before and he hates that.

"Sam, come on, you gotta tell me what's going on man," he pleads, as he takes his brother into his arms and rocks him back and forth, trying desperately to calm him. Sam immediately grabs onto Dean's t-shirt, and he's not letting go any time soon. His grip is like a vice, and Dean thinks he might just tear through the fabric.

"D-dad," Sam finally stutters, and that's all it takes for Dean's stomach to bottom out. He's dead. Dean knows he's dead, there's nothing else it could be. Sam wouldn't be crying like this if he weren't.

Dean's tears spill over his eyelids and onto Sam's hair, but they're silent. He swallows the lump in his throat and just clutches Sam closer to his chest and rocks them both back and forth for the rest of the night.

**Xxx**

John died in a drunk driving accident. He was the drunk driver.

When Dean's mind is clear enough to finally think about this, he decides he hates it. It casts a bad light over John even in death, and yes, it was irresponsible and reckless and John was a drunk and a recluse, but he'd _loved _Sam and Dean. He'd done the best he could to take care of them after their mom had died. He'd raised them into decent men with real morals, save for Dean's recent mistakes. He'd taught Sam long division and Dean to fix a carburetor, and he'd been a _good man_.

Dean doesn't show up at the cave the next time he's supposed to, or the next, or the next. He feels bad about ditching Castiel without so much as a phone call, but between the guilt that had grown since his meeting with Reyayel and the death of his father, he just doesn't have it in him. That, and their phone line's been disconnected, so he can't call anyways. He lies on the couch with Sam, and there's not even a TV that they can pretend to watch while they wallow in their own grief because Dean had sold it for twenty fucking dollars.

They only ever get up to eat, and they don't eat much. There isn't a lot of food in the house and they can't bring themselves to get out to the market, so their supply slowly dwindles. Soon they're down to eating bread and ketchup. It's disgusting, but not bad enough to for them to leave the house.

At the end of the second week, there's a knock at the door. They mostly kept to themselves, so they didn't have a lot of friends in town, which means Dean has a pretty good idea as to who it is.

He sniffs, and it's pathetic. He's glad he gets it out of his system before he answers the door. Sam's sleeping on one end of the couch. They don't get much of that these days, so Dean is silent as he stands and slowly opens the door, so as not to wake him.

Dean's guess was right. It's Castiel. The angel pulls him into a hug so fierce that Dean thinks his heart might break all over again, and then Castiel's wings are out and surrounding him, and he's sobbing into his trench coat like there's no tomorrow.

This shouldn't be happening. They're right in Dean's doorway where anyone could see them, and after they'd gone to such great lengths to keep this whole thing a secret, it seems stupid to throw it all away because Dean can't hold himself together. He starts to pull away, but Castiel just crushes him closer.

"It's okay," he says. "I don't care. Let them look."

Dean's knees almost give out on him, but Cas holds him up. And then, because he really can't stop worrying about being seen, he curls his hands around the lapels of Castiel's trench coat and pulls him inside, closing the door quietly behind them.

Dean leads the angel into the tiny bedroom he shares with his brother so they can talk without waking Sam. Dean sits on the bed and scrubs a palm over his face, wiping away the tears that linger under his eyes. Castiel sits next to him and Dean presses his face into his neck, breathing in his scent.

"I would have been here sooner had I known," Castiel says softly. Dean nods against his collar bone in acknowledgement.

"I know. Sorry. I woulda called, but the phone's disconnected."

Castiel cards his fingers through Dean's hair and shushes him. "Don't apologize. It's no where near your fault."

"Cas?"

"Hmm?"

"Sam an' me are leaving." He mumbles the words, and as he says them he wonders if he even wants Castiel to hear.

But Castiel is an angel, so of course he hears. His body goes rigid and he swallows audibly. "When?"

"Tomorrow."

Castiel nods slowly and Dean wishes he could get rid of the dejected look on the angel's face. He didn't want it to end up like this, not at all.

"May… may I ask why?" Castiel's arms are still wrapped tightly around Dean and Dean doesn't feel like he deserves the comfort, not when he's breaking this news. Dean doesn't feel like he deserves much of anything right now.

"We can't stay here anymore, Cas. Not here, in this house, where he…" Dean's voice breaks and he tries again. "We just can't. There's nothing left for Sammy here and…" Dean's doesn't want to say it. He really doesn't. But it needs to be said. "And there's nothing left for me either."

Castiel's fingers freeze in Dean's hair, and Dean looks up to face the damage he's done. There's a lot of it. Castiel looks broken.

"Oh," is the only answer Castiel can seem to manage.

And Dean can't help it. He's tearing up again, because Castiel must be trying to rip his heart out with that face. His eyes are closed when he presses his lips against Castiel's in hopes of wiping that look away. It doesn't work.

"Cas," he murmurs against the angel's skin. "I want to take you with me. I never want to leave you. But your family's here and you won't come, and… and I met Reyayel, Cas, and she's a real person and she likes Zeppelin and I can't do it to her, or you, or me. It's not fair. There's nothing left for me here because you're not _mine_, Cas. I thought you were, but I was wrong. Even before Reyayel, you weren't mine, and especially not now."

"Dean… Reyayel does not love me anymore than I love her. We're practically strangers. I love _you_."

Dean shakes his head. "I know you do. And I love you, too, and I know you don't have anything with her, but it doesn't matter because you _are _with her. You won't leave her because of your family, and I'm not trying to blame you, Cas, I'm really not, 'cause I get it, but…" Dean takes a breath and stops talking for a moment, because he's rambling. He hates rambling. When he starts speaking again, he's more composed. "Me and Sam need to get out of here. This… this friggen shack is too full of our dad. If I could have you I wouldn't even think of leaving, I'd just take Sam and find a new place, hell, we'd live in the cave if we had to. But I can't. So we're going."

Castiel swallows and nods and Dean can see that he's really trying not to show how terrible he feels. He tries, but while Dean taught Cas a lot about showing emotion, he never once gave him a lesson on how to hide it. Dean feels a stab of guilt at that, which is just ridiculous, because doesn't Dean have enough to feel guilty about without feeling bad that he never taught Cas how to lie with his face? It's stupid, but it's there.

Dean doesn't know what to do for him. There's nothing he can say to make this better, because none of this happened the way they'd planned, and it's all just shot to hell. So Dean just kisses him, because it's the only form of comfort he knows how to give right now. It goes farther than he'd really thought it would, but it makes sense that it does, because this is really it. After this, it's over.

So they drag it out for as long as possible. They're a tangle of limbs on top of the tiny bed, and it's slow and sad and quiet, because Sam's still sleeping in the other room. Dean's legs are wrapped tightly around Castiel's waist, a faint echo of the ownership he realizes now that he never had. Castiel's wings have been out this whole time, and Dean watches as shivers run through them and groans when the soft touch of feathers meets his skin. He's a shuddering mess beneath Castiel long before it's over, and Dean's not sure if that's just because Castiel's really good at this or because he's terrified to let him go after they're done.

It turns out he doesn't have to. They come with their lips pressed forcefully together to muffle their shouts and even when they're both spent, they still kiss for minutes after. And then Castiel pulls out and drags Dean into his arms. Dean drifts into a sleep that he highly suspects is induced by Castiel, his teeth clenched to keep from screaming at the unfairness of it all.

**xxx**

Dean sleeps for far longer than he should have and when he wakes up to the smell of burning toast, his angel is gone. Dean's not even going to think about it. He just can't.

If Sam heard anything the night before, he doesn't mention it. He places a plate with buttered toast on the coffee table and gestures for Dean to sit, and Dean scowls because he's supposed to be taking care of Sam, not vice versa. He sits anyways and takes a few bites, but he's not very hungry. He ends up throwing half of it away when Sam's not looking.

"You packed?" Dean asks, and Sam nods. "Good." He doesn't mean it.

Dean doesn't have a lot here. Some clothes, a toothbrush, and a few old cassette tapes. He takes those because the guys at the garage fixed up his dad's – his now, he supposes – Impala after the accident, no charge, and Dean doesn't like driving without good music. He packs a couple cans of non-perishable food, two cups, two plates, two forks and two spoons. He and Sam both have pocket knives. He's packing light 'cause he doesn't know where they're going yet and if the situation weren't so goddamn depressing, he'd be excited. Road trip, endless possibilities, unknown destination – it's exactly the kind of trip Dean's always wanted to take, except it doesn't seem so appealing anymore. Not when he knows his dad won't be there, Castiel won't be there, and Sam will be just as miserable as he is.

Dean's packed everything he thinks they'll need and even though his bag isn't even full, their tiny house looks stripped and bare. It almost makes Dean laugh, but then he's not sure if it's actually funny or just pathetic, so he doesn't.

Sam's waiting for him in the living room with his own bag at his feet. The kid looks so down in the dumps that Dean almost decides to call the whole thing off, but he knows that's not a good idea. Sam needs out of here. It's this place and the memories it holds that are making him like this, and Dean's pretty sure if they leave it behind fast enough, they could both have a pretty good chance at getting over it.

"You ready?" Dean asks, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

Sam takes one last look around and nods. "Yeah. Let's go."

They walk side by side to the door and when Dean opens it –

What the hell?

Reyayel and Castiel are standing there, both of them outside the just-about-to-be-abandoned Winchester house. Sam is a little shocked, but Dean is utterly speechless.

"Uhhh." Dean thinks he should say something, but that's all that comes out.

And then Castiel takes a step forward and kisses him lightly on the corner of his mouth, but Dean can't respond right now, because he's trying to figure this out. All he knows is that if Castiel is going to propose some kind of freaky three way spouse trading shit, he's going to kick him in the nads.

Reyayel obviously feels Dean's suspicions, because she blushes fiercely and shakes her head. "Dean, I know."

Dean's eyes go wide and he has the distinct urge to gank himself right on the front step just to save her the trouble. He doesn't want her to get her dress bloody, 'cause it's a really nice one.

"Reyayel, I am… _so _sorry. That doesn't even begin to cut it, I know. But me and my brother, we were just leaving. For good, I mean, we're skipping town and taking off, so you won't ever have to see my face again." It's not enough and Dean knows it. He wishes he could offer more.

Reyayel smiles, and Dean wonders why it doesn't look like a vicious 'I'm about to kill you and enjoy every minute of it' kind of smile, when that's the only kind of smile she should be wearing right now. But no, this one looks genuine and _forgiving_, and that just doesn't make any sense at all.

And that's when Dean notices the bags.

There are two of them, and they've both been stuffed with a hell of a lot more than the ones Sam and Dean are carrying, but they are undeniably the kind of bags you'd take on a road trip with no destination and no return date.

Dean scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Planning a trip?" he asks. It's a stupid question, but it gets a chuckle out of Castiel.

"Yes. That is, if you don't mind us tagging along," he explains.

And Dean _absolutely _doesn't mind if Castiel tags along, and he doesn't even mind if Reyayel wants to come too, except he's kind of confused as to _why_.

Sam huffs from the sidelines of the conversation. "God, Dean, you're such an idiot. Cas loves you, he ditched his family cause they're assholes and he finally figured out he doesn't have to take their shit, and he's coming with us. Jesus, I'm not even a part of this mess and I can figure it all out."

Dean scowls at his brother and shoves him lightly into the porch railing. He turns to Castiel, his brow furrowed, and points almost accusingly at Sam.

"Is he right?"

Castiel smiles and then he's kissing him. Dean figures that's his answer, so he kisses back.

They get a little carried away, and Reyayel is blushing, looking anywhere but at Dean and Castiel, so Sam clears his throat.

Dean reluctantly pulls away from his angel and he's smiling, but then it fades into confusion once again. "Uh, don't take this the wrong way, 'cause I'd pretty much say yes to anything you asked right now just to thank you for not ripping me limb from limb, but, uh, why are _you _coming, Rey?"

Reyayel just smiles, so Castiel answers for her.

"She's coming with us because she's looking for you."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Well, here I am." He shifts nervously on his feet, but Castiel lets out a puff of laughter and says,

"Not, _you_, Dean. You're mine." He says it with a certainty that makes Dean want to drag him into the Impala, but somehow he doubts Sam and Rey want to see that, so it can wait. "She's looking for _her _you."

Oh. Okay. Dean gets it now. And that's actually kind of cool, and Rey's a nice girl, so Dean's more than willing to drive her around and show her the world so she can find someone who can really love her like Dean loves Castiel, instead of just a '_compatible_ _mate_' chosen for her before she could even think for herself. It's the very, very least he can do.

So it's not perfect. Dean's father is dead and none of them have a home anymore. Castiel and Reyayel won't ever be allowed to return to their families, and Sam… well, Sam just lost his father, too, and he's not doing too great. But they have time, and time heals all wounds, right? Dean's pretty sure he's heard that somewhere.

"Right. _Her _me." He nods and picks up Reyayel's bag, and his free hand grabs for Castiel's, whose fingers curl around it. "Let's hit the road then, hey? I say we hit up the Grand Canyon. I've never been to the Grand Canyon." Dean doesn't hear any objections, so…

Grand Canyon it is.

**xxx**

_The End _

There you have it folks. I really hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it and I would absolutely _adore _if you left me a review telling me what you thought. Seriously, they make my day just that much more fantastic. Anyways, thanks so much for reading.

- Nix (:


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